


Ghosts of Coruscant

by Rosie_Dayze



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Murder Mystery, Plot, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 01:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Dayze/pseuds/Rosie_Dayze
Summary: Nela Vox, the worst Jedi ever, is pulled away from a good morning to deal with things she absolutely has no desire to deal with. This is a WIP and may undergo edits as I see fit.





	Ghosts of Coruscant

Nela Vox woke up in that hazy state between no longer drunk, yet not quite sober. It was a travesty. She ran a lethargic hand over her face and pushed through the murky haze of near sobriety. By the smokey flicker of neon light spreading over the sheets and the fact that the hover lane that passed by her window was still empty, she guessed that morning was hours off. Not that morning mattered. On Coruscant morning was a figment of the artificial imagination of the WeatherNet. Nela had nowhere to be no matter what time of day it was. One of the few blessings that came along with being absolutely useless. 

With a groan, she collapsed back into a comfortable cocoon of sheets and body heat. Her short, disheveled mop of azure hair slithered over her cheeks and into her eyes. It was too much work to push it away. Blindly, Nela groped for a bottle of algarine wine. It didn't matter that the wine, traditionally served chilled, was just shy of tepid. It didn't matter that last night's lipstick was clumped around the neck. She brought it to her naturally blue lips and took a big enough drink that it hurt to swallow around it. 

“Any of that left for me?” a voice, sleep rough and husky, crooned. A thin, pale arm snaked across her bare stomach playfully. Lips pressed against her shoulder with a casual intimacy that Nela wasn't sure had been earned. 

“Nope,” she said flatly, downing the last few drops. “You'll have to get your own.” 

He chuckled, mistaking her bland attitude for teasing. With a persistent push he eased her back to the bed. She allowed it, but only because her head was starting to swim pleasantly again. As her eyes—red by genetics rather than inebriation—adjusted to the light and alcohol she realized that he'd been a lot cuter the night before. 

“Guess I'll have to settle for something else.” His dark hair, mussed by sleep, fell across a cloud white brow as he leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers. She wasn't sure if it was drink or talent that made the kiss a good one. His hand roamed over her sheet covered skin. “Nela,” he purred her name. 

Nela couldn't remember his name or why she'd picked him out of half a dozen others she could have taken home. She remembered the vice den of a cantina that she had picked him up from and dim recollections of bith made music, but his name, and any other specifies were lost in a blur of sex and liquor. She didn't dwell on it. There were a lot of lost nights for Nela. 

“Do you have time?” he asked. 

She did. Where else did she have to be? This man, with his cloud white skin and deep black hair, was the only thing that needed her. 

“Yeah,” she said, taking his hand and planting it against her breast. “I have time.” 

His mouth traveled down the long blue line of her neck, leaving a trail of warm tingles in his wake. The undulating movement of her body had the sheet that divided them slipping down and puddling somewhere near their feet. His leg slipped between hers and she opened in invitation. He might not be as pretty as he had been the night before, but he was good with his mouth and she had nothing better to do. 

In the back of her mind she knew she shouldn't be there, her arms wrapped around a warm body, her naked back against the sheets. Training had taught her that these sort of entanglements were nothing but distractions. It didn't matter. In the past few months Nela had decided very little mattered. If she could seek comfort in a bottle and a body, then she would. 

He was drinking the taste of wine from her lips when she heard a nearly foreign chirping. It wasn't the sound that she didn't recognize. Everyone knew what a comlink demanding to be heard sounded like. What took her longer to process was that it was her comlink. 

“Hold on,” she said, pushing at the shoulder of the nameless male. “That's for me.” 

“Do you need to get that?” he tried to distract her with his mouth. It nearly worked. The chirping was persistent. She pushed on his shoulder. 

“Yes.” 

She pulled herself out of the bed, disentangling herself from the sheets as well as him. Her knees were weak as she riffled through clothes. Her head was spinning, as much from confusion as anything else. No one ever contacted her. Not for a long time. Nela had no friends. She belonged nowhere. Who wanted her attention now? Whatever it was, she was betting it wasn't for good reasons. 

She moved a fallen pillow, found the source of the chirping. The comlink was small, no longer than her thumb, and twice as wide. A blue light emanated from one side. It continued to chirp. 

“Stay there.” She motioned towards the man in the bed, whose name was still a blur, and pulled a tunic over her shoulders, settled it into place. When she was sure she looked semi-decent she hit the button that would connect the call. A small hologram done in shades of neon blue filled a palm sized space in front of her. The image was of a seated male, human, bald, and dark skinned. He wore robes in the Jedi style, layered in shades of cream and brown. A lightsaber was clipped to one hip. 

She was right, this call couldn't possibly be for anything good. 

“Nela Vox.” He lifted his chin. The corns of his lips dipped downwards. “You are not currently within the temple.” 

The temple? Why would she be there? Her status had been made perfectly clear. She had no place there. 

“No, Master Windu.” 

The male in the bed sat up. What was his name? Deel? Dar? Something. She ignored him. Her attention was fixed on the holographic male in front of her. 

“Why is that?” Windu demanded. 

Nela hesitated. Words failed. The liquor was making it hard to put thoughts together. Words and emotions seemed to tumble over one another. How was she supposed to explain something she was sure he already knew? She wiped her palm down her face. It was too hot. She needed a glass of water. Or a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Sleep sounded good. 

“Vox?” Windu demanded when she didn't answer. 

She didn't have an answer, but she had a lot of questions. “Is there a reason you have contacted me?” 

His expression darkened. “Where are you?” 

She looked out the window. A long line of hover-traffic was starting to build up outside. “Does it matter?” 

“I don't know if it escaped your attention, Nela, but we are at war.” 

Her shoulders squared. In an instant the struggle to find the right words vanished. The fog of alcohol lifted. Her eyes snapped to a razor sharp focused fueled by anger. “Correction. There is a war going on. We aren't part of that.” 

“The Jedi are-” 

“Peacekeepers,” she interrupted. She'd said the word so many times in the past few months that it had lost most of its meaning. She said it anyway. Clung to it. Her already weak knees shook with a sudden wave of passion. “We are diplomats, healers, and peacekeepers. The Jedi have no place in war, General.” She spat the title like a curse. 

The tiny blue hologram shifted and stuttered as if the anger that Jedi Master Windu would not allow himself to show was making itself known anyway. She'd always had a grudging respect for Master Windu's control. 

“Your presence is requested at council.” His tone said it wasn't a request at all. 

“What for?” 

“And here I thought we weren't answering one another's questions.” He straightened up, his expression smug. “Your talents are required.” 

She froze. The warmth of liquor and sex evaporated, leaving a cold weight in her belly. She shook her head, the word 'no' already forming on her lips. She had no desire to use her gift to help the Jedi. Not now. Not ever again. 

“Report at your earliest convenience.” 

The hologram had barely flickered off before she heard the sheets slither over the floor. It was followed by the dull thud of feet. 

“You're a jedi?” The awe in his tone was painful to hear. 

“No,” she said flatly. “I am not.” 

“Then why was Mace Windu-” 

“You need to go.” Nela scooped a pile of clothing from the group and tossed it at him. His were somewhere in there, she was almost sure. “I have to get ready.” 

A normal person would have got the point and stopped asking questions. Apparently, Dwar (Daer?) was not a normal person. His mouth kept moving. Questions kept spilling out. “What talent are they talking about? Why don't you live at the temple? I thought Chiss couldn't be Jedi.” 

Nela snarled and yanked open a small, wall mounted closet. “Yeah, you were pretty last night. This morning? Not so much.” 

He scoffed, but at least he was quiet as he pulled on his clothes. She prowled through her closet. 

“I'm still pretty,” he said. “You are just in a bad mood.” 

There, in the very back of her closet, were her robes. They were rumpled and dirty. She wondered if they still fit. Her recent lifestyle had added pounds where none had been before. 

“Chiss can be Jedi.” 

“What?” 

“It doesn't happen often. But it does happen.” She pulled on her long sleeved tunic. Not too long ago it had been a soft cream shade. Now it was a sad, dingy gray. “For reasons I cannot explain most force sensitive Chiss are women.” 

“Didn't know the force cared.” 

She shrugs. “Usually it doesn't. I dunno. Just the way things worked out for us. Also, we aren't particularly good Jedi.” 

He cocked his head to the side. His lips tilted into a grin. “You were good last night.” 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. Her thick leather belt didn't seem to want to close. With a sigh she loosened it and tried the fastenings again. “Yeah, yeah. But that's not what I mean. I mean our one and only talent has always been limited.” 

“The talent the master jedi spoke of.” 

“Smarter than you look.” She tugged her sleeveless, deep brown robe over the tunic. The fabric was dark enough to hide the worst stains. “Now, are you smart enough to get out?” 

He chuckled and pulled on a pair of boots. “I'm getting there. I'm just intrigued. I didn't know a Jedi could have a one night stand.” 

“Jedi can't have attachments.” She knew the words were cutting the truth hair thin. “We are not attached.” 

He held his hands up in mute surrender, though a smile still danced on his lips. “I guess that answers the question of whether or not I'll see you again.” 

 

She plunged her hand into the closet again, rifling through its contents. She found other clothes in various states of cleanliness. A broken hydrospanner, a few more bottles of liquor, some full, some empty, and some inbetween. But there, at the very back, her fingers touched metal. Her hand hesitated just a moment before it closed around the etched casing. Slowly, she withdrew her hand. 

As far as lightsabres went, her's was simple. Nela had never needed things to be flamboyant. A simple cylinder, nearly as long as the space between her elbow and wrist. There were three deep grooves near the haft, and another two near the emitter. 

“Wow,” he breathed. “You weren't lying.” 

She clipped the weapon to her belt. It felt strange to wear it. Like it belonged to someone else. Maybe it did. She wasn't who she had been. 

“Do people lie to you often?” 

“To get me into bed? Yes.” 

She shrugged and turned. He stood in the glimmering light of neon signs and automotive lights. His pale skin nearly glimmered, dark hair like a shadow. He wore only his boots and pants and she let herself enjoy a last look before she hit the button that opened the the front door. 

“Well, believe me when I say that I don't even remember your name.”


End file.
